A God That Knows How to Dance
by Benevolent Goddess
Summary: PostRENT. Collins never thought he'd open up to a near stranger.


**Author's Notes/Disclaimer**: This is basically the end product of my undying love for professor!Collins and my friend Alicia, who happens to be the Collins to my Angel. This is sort of angsty and I can't quite figure out why, aside from the fact that most of my fics enjoy writing themselves. I tried to do my homework a little bit and decided that Collins probably taught ontology (the study of being), so just roll with me on that. I have this set in November of same year Angel died, so the wounds are still fresh. Poor little Collins. I don't own him, or Angel would be doing a jig in the middle of his class. I only own Alicia on weekends, sadly. Don't sue me. And leave reviews so I know if I should continue or not...

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The tall, bespectacled professor stood at the front of the small lecture hall, scratching the patch of scruff on his chin as he flipped through the pages of the textbook. The leaves were changing; he would have rather been outside. The thought crossed his mind that if the falling leaves weren't so depressing to look at, he would have jumped into a pile of them. Instead, he was inside wearing an itchy turtleneck and being stared down by dozens of pairs of eyes. It was another day of teaching his infamous Ontology class at New York University, and another day that half of his students seemed to be doodling something in their notebooks. Others were fast asleep. His finger ran along each line as he read, and he let out a hum as he found what he was looking for.

"Alright, listen up. I'd like you to finish up on this chapter so you can finish your papers, and remember that they're due in two weeks. I'm gonna keep harping on this, 'cause I know how y'all are. Just get 'em done this time – no late papers are going to be accepted."

A collective groan rose from the students whose heads were still up.

Collins shut the book with a half-hearted chuckle, removing his reading glasses. "Yeah, I know. I'm a wicked man. Just remember, off-topic papers are going to earn you absolutely nothing this time around. Try to stick to the rubric I handed out, okay? See you guys next time."

The students all seemed to perk up at that point, and the buzz of conversation began as they all gathered their belongings and began to leave. He smiled softly. They had no idea how lucky they were. He tossed the book up in the air a few inches, catching it easily and putting it into his sack, which lay beside the podium he so rarely used. Another glance outside revealed that the afternoon was going to be a particularly sunny one. He saw the warm glow brighten as the sun peeked out from behind a cloud, and sighed deeply.

"Professor Collins?"

He hated that title more than he let on, and forced a smile as he snapped back to reality. One of his more eager students stood in front of him – one that stayed awake, participated in his discussions, actually took notes. Her backpack was slung over one shoulder and she bounced a little to readjust the weight. What was the girl's name again?

"Yes, uh..."

"Alicia." She smiled, and he nodded.

"Alicia, yes. What's up?"

She stumbled a bit, looking over her shoulder at a few of the students who were taking their sweet time in packing up. Collins noticed her discomfort and stooped over a little so they were at eye level. Although he didn't quite know his students by name, Collins had honest concerns when it came to their struggles – especially those on a personal level. Of course, he was expected to sympathize with them when their grades weren't meeting their potential, but in addition he cared about them. Perhaps, he mused to himself, a little too much. It was hard enough dealing with his own problems, let alone the problems of a bunch of college kids.

Alicia cleared her throat and took this as her signal to speak, although she still kept looking over her shoulder at the few stragglers chatting to each other in the back. "Professor, I noticed we didn't have class a couple times last month – you know, we waited and all – and since you've been back, you just haven't seemed like yourself. Are you okay?"

The question made him blink a few times, as if trying to comprehend what had just been said. Was she pulling his leg? As much as he cared about others, he admittedly doubted half of his students wanted to be taking his class. He also doubted their honesty when it came to simple questions such as "how are you?", or statements like "have a nice day". It was simply manners, a common courtesy they'd all been taught to say as children. He could have said "horrible", or "bite me" and they wouldn't have even noticed. Could this girl have actually noticed his sluggishness lately?

"Professor Collins?"

"Sorry," he winced slightly. "I – I'm fine, Alicia, thank you. Things have been tough lately, but I think I'll be able to deal with everything just fine." Almost as an afterthought, he added, "Have I really been acting that different?"

The young girl laughed out loud, brushing a strand of her dark hair out of her pale face. He didn't see the joke. "Professor, no offense, but you told us that our work had to be handed in on time."

He gave a small shrug of his shoulders, acknowledging her observation. "I guess that's usually not my style, but not all your professors are gonna be as laid-back as me."

"What's been going on? If that's not too personal."

She was persisting. Why was she persisting? He couldn't fathom what had brought on this sudden interest, and the thought popped up in the back of his mind that she would make an excellent journalism major. He laughed silently to himself. "Someone very close to me passed away at the end of last month."

Her expression changed, and she set her backpack down entirely. This unnerved him, and what was worse is that he suddenly felt her hand patting him on the back. "I'm so sorry. Was it a relative?"

He shook his head. He shouldn't open up to a student like this. "A lover."

There was silence for a moment. Collins used to enjoy silence, times when he could curl up with a good book or even curl up with his Angel. Times when words weren't needed, and laughter seemed too loud. Nowadays, silence scared Collins because it gave his brain an opportunity to over-analyze – to pick apart the daily reminders of her, to wonder about what life would be like without her. Whether or not her soul still existed and lived on beyond her mortal form, the kind of ontology he didn't want to be dwelling on.

"I'm sorry."

It was the same cliché again, so overused that he squirmed every time he heard it. What was she sorry for? She didn't send that poison through her bloodstream; she wasn't the nurse who had covered her with a sheet as if she were just some object to be moved elsewhere. Those two words held so little meaning for him. Maybe he was just bitter.

"She was my world."

Another pause. More silence. "What was her name?"

"Angel."

"Angel," she repeated. "I know someone with that name, but he's a guy."

"I see." Irony, another wonderful part of existence. He knelt down next to his sack, pulling out a pack of cigarettes and plucking one out. He rolled his between his fingers a few times before sticking it in his mouth, sliding the pack into a back pocket. "You mind?"

She shook her head and he took out a lighter, lighting up his cigarette and inhaling deeply. "Those are bad for you," she commented slowly, apparently struggling to choose the right words.

"There are things more dangerous," he said with a dismissive wave. He exhaled and watched a cloud of smoke rise slowly. "Trust me. Let's get outta this building and take a little walk 'All truly great thoughts are conceived by walking'."

Another small smile lit up Alicia's face, one of recognition as she grabbed her backpack and scurried along to catch up with him. "Friedrich Nietzsche!"

"Good," Collins smiled back, doing a little shuffle step over to the door. "'I would only believe in a God that knows how to dance!'"

The two stepped out into the hallway, and then into the sunlight.


End file.
